Ingrid's Funeral
by Buffelyn
Summary: Surrounded by tease and torment, in the shadow of the ghost light, a delicious love story spins toward a lethal curtain call.... Story halted. :(
1. Through My World

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Ingrid's Funeral

Tag: Surrounded by tease and torment, in the shadow of the ghost light, a delicious love story spins toward a lethal curtain call....

Why, Buffelyn, why???: I don't know! MR was calling me... I had to take a little side-trip from my usual Mummy haunt or my muse was going to be very disappointed and beat me over the head with my keyboard. Just the way it goes. 

Disclaimer: Baz owns the characters. The café Les Deux Moulins is from _Amélie_, but it's an actual place:) though I've switched the country. The songs belong to their respective owners, which I'll mostly credit in the text. I wrote the _Ingrid's Funeral_ text, it's mine, all mine! Mwahaha. 

Have fun. :) ~Buff

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Excerpts from Ingrid's Funeral _by Christian Gilkey:_

The orchestra pit is open, though no musicians grace it. Five waist-height wooden crosses line center stage. Open umbrellas scatter the stage in tribute to Wilder. On the scrim, the faint glimmer of a summer thunderstorm is projected, and every once in a while the weather rumbles across the sound system in slow, faint echoes. The lights dim, the thunder continues, and a young man climbs a ladder up from the orchestra pit. He takes time to study each grave, tracing names and dates on them that are invisible to the audience. 

Wesley: "Sometimes I wonder... What would have happened if I had never met her? Or if I had met her six months earlier. Or a year later. Or never. Never would have been better. I wouldn't be here, left with only the memory. And this ache inside me that pounds through my veins like the tortured music of a soul gone wrong."

He pauses at the second grave from stage left, then shakes his head and rushes downstage, stuck with a memory so vivid he cannot contain it. 

Wesley: "It was raining, that night, but the stars shone bright through the clouds and the moon glowed orange. I guess what made that night remarkable was the fact that I was in love. Every night after that was remarkable for the sheer fact that she loved me, too..." 

--Act I, Scene I

Colors flashed crazily in his eyes, one after the other in quick, violent succession, always following the same pattern. Green, yellow, blue, fuchsia, green, yellow, blue, fuchsia... He blinked and white dots took the place of the colors, floating to the edge of his vision as the colors intruded again. If he didn't blink, they all sort of blended together in a liquid rainbow of light. 

Christian blinked again and his eyes were torn away from the swirling colors that streamed across the dance floor. After a minute his vision cleared somewhat and he focused bleary eyes on the figure across the little table. The sight that greeted him was overly blond, overly vivacious, over-sexed. She held a tall, dainty glass filled with something alarmingly green between two fingers, and a cigarette dangled between pinkie and ring finger. Christian could think of no reason why this Barbie doll had chosen to fixate on him for the evening, but she was proving to be less fun than he'd thought, and annoyingly hard to get rid of. 

"So anyway," she was saying, "I told the director that a nude scene was absolutely out of the question. I mean, I am a professional actress." She paused to take a long drag from her cigarette, then leaned close, blowing the smoke in Christian's general direction. "I mean, just because it's a adult film doesn't mean it has to be tasteless, ya know?"

"Mmm hmm," Christian agreed, trying his best not to choke on the smoke that floated about his head. "Natasha, not that I don't find this fascinating..."

"Nicolette." She placed the cigarette in her mouth again, the glass of green stuff tipping precariously. "You can call me Nikki, doll."

"Right, Nikki. I have to, um..." Christian looked about the nightclub, trying to come up with an excuse that the Barbie doll would buy. "Get a drink. Yeah, I have to get a drink. Excuse me."

He leapt up from his chair, abandoning all pretenses of politeness as he escaped from the cloud of smoke and back into the blissful anonymity of the dance floor. If he hid long enough in the mass of people and lights, hopefully the Barbie doll would get confused and forget about him. 

Christian slouched against a far wall and closed his eyes, enjoying the beat of the music as it pulsated in his throat and chest. He didn't usually venture this far out into the floor, preferring to observe the crowds from a distance. He found that when people danced, eventually they completely let go of their inhibitions and let their true nature shine through. It made for a fascinating character study, and more than one unsuspecting dancer at this very club had made their way into Christian's writing. If he ever had to put one of those fictional character disclaimers on anything, he was going to run into a moral dilemma. 

Little did he know, another dilemma was about to land right in his lap. She came in the form of a pale, long-legged redhead, who came crashing around the corner and straight into him. "Sorry!" she cried, still leaning on him perhaps more than was necessary. After an embarrassed moment she regained her balance and was able to stand upright on her precarious heels, but he held onto her arms to prevent a repeat performance. 

"It's okay," he said, noticing in sequence blue eyes, defiant chin, plunging neckline. Her magnificent hair obscured half her face, and she blew it out of the way with seductively curled lips. Everything about the woman screamed sensuality, though she also gave off the air that she wasn't even trying. 

"I'm good now," she said. Her voice was sultry, breathy, innocent, as if she were simultaneously a million different people. "You can let go."

"Right. Yes. I've never understood women."

She blinked and he noticed that she wore almost no make-up past a bit of mascara. He also noticed that he'd said something incredibly idiotic. He had a tendency to do that sort of thing. Fantastic. 

"What?" she said, cupping a hand to her ear. "I couldn't hear you!"

He leaned closer, enjoying the faint smell of her perfume. "I said, I've never understood why women wear high heels. They don't seem very logical."

She smiled, and didn't move away from him. "True. But without the clumsiness they produced I might never have met you. I'm Satine, by the way." She held out her hand. His skin tingled with the contact. 

"Christian," he said back, and she kept on smiling. The fact that she was still talking to him rather amazed him. He didn't usually get this far in conversations with women. Unless, of course, you counted the Barbie doll. 

"Dance with me?" she said, and without giving him a chance to reply, pulled him out into the middle of the dance floor. People twirled and writhed around them as the music morphed into a slower, methodical beat. How convenient, thought Christian, as Satine slid her arms around his neck, the flow of the music necessarily pressing her body closer to his. The night seemed blessed with coincidence. 

"I got a mind full of wicked designs," mouthed Satine along with the music. He could feel the faint breath of her silent words warm against his cheek. 

He decided to throw caution to the wind and joined her in singing. "I'm in a building that has 2000 floors and when they all fall down, I think you know it's you they're falling for..."

Satine laughed then, and it echoed in his ear as though it were the only sound in the world. Poe's voice continued to buzz in the background, but it was all secondary to the moment. 

"Hey pretty, don't you want to take a ride with me through my world... Hey pretty, don't you wanna kick and slide...through my world..."

A new beat began to interweave with the throaty lyrics, the dancers around them began to move faster, but the sound was hushed, the movement dim. Two people stared into each other's eyes, both desperate to look away, not sure what held them there. 

Satine swallowed, and her voice sounded strangled, out of air. "Want to get a drink?"

Christian nodded and let her lead him out through the mass of dancers, up the stairs, to the neon-lined world that was the bar. She took a stool and gestured to the bartender with a flick of her fingers. Christian noticed with only a slight pang that he came running to her like a puppy dog. 

"Yes, miss?" 

"A Cosmopolitan, please. And for my friend..."

"Uh..." Christian paused, trying to think of a drink that didn't sound dirty. "Same."

The bartender gave him a funny look, flashed a smile at Satine, and moved away. "Original," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. 

"I'm not much of a drinker."

"You know the words to Poe, you don't drink, and you don't understand women." Satine placed a hand on his arm, the slight pressure of her fingers enough to set his finally-slowing heartbeat up to critical mass again. "Anything else I should know?"

"You said you couldn't hear me."

"Au contraire. I decided to give you a second chance." The bartender set two glasses in front of them, giving Christian a glare and gracing his companion with a smile. Satine ignored him, however, and took a delicate sip of her drink. "Mmm. What do you think?"

Christian had to fight not to spit the stuff out, but he swallowed it valiantly and set the glass down with a rather hard clunk. "That's disgusting!"

She laughed again, and this time Christian couldn't help but join her. "You just have to develop a taste for it. So...What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up, and Christian hoped to God that she wasn't an actress. "What kinds of things do you write?"

"Little of this, little of that. A lot of songs. Musicals. That sort of thing."

"Small world."

He took another stab at the Cosmo but couldn't swallow it. "How so?"

"Well..." She seemed embarrassed now, and hid her face behind her glass. "I sing. Oh, you must think I'm such a liar. You must hear it all the time. I sing, I act, I waitress. I do exactly what everybody else does in this town."

"Somehow I get the feeling, Satine, that you do all those things better than everybody else."

She didn't answer for a moment, the delighted flush of a suitor's compliment rising in her cheeks. "Oh, that's certainly not true. I'm a _terrible_ waitress. Quite clumsy. I spill things."

"You can't mean it. You're so..." Christian's subconscious nature suddenly came rushing back, and he mumbled the last word. "...graceful."

"Graceful! I'm the one who ran into you, remember?"

"Yes, but it was quite an elegant fall. Just blame the shoes."

"Okay." She sipped at the last of her drink, licking her red lips. "You'll have to stop by sometime. Two Windmills down on tenth."

"I'll do that. Maybe I could... I mean, maybe..."

"Maybe we could go out sometime?" Satine supplied. 

Christian nearly fainted with relief. "Yes!"

"Maybe you could pick me up there tomorrow at seven?"

"Yes!"

"Glad we have that straightened out." Satine elbowed him teasingly. "You're really good at this, aren't you?"

"Oh, please. I had you at 'I've never understood women.'"

Satine laughed, but it quickly died in her throat as she saw something beyond the bar. "Oh, Jesus," she muttered, trying her hide her tall frame behind Christian's non-existent bulk. "He's back."

Christian looked around, but didn't see any obvious threat. "Who?"

"This jerk, smashed out of his mind, probably high too. He was harassing me earlier." Satine snuck a peek over Christian's shoulder and cringed. "Oh God, he saw me. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah." Christian placed a protective arm around Satine's waist and guided her away from the bar, down the steps, out through the dance floor. Her steps steadily picked up speed until they'd reached the exit. 

"Thank you," she said as they stepped out into the alley, a blast of cold air . "That creep was scaring me."

"No problem. Hey, are you cold?"

Satine was indeed shivering, but she looked as though she were trying to be brave. "I left my coat inside. Don't worry about it, I don't want to go back there."

"I'll get it for you. The coat check is right inside the door. Wait right here." 

She still looked worried. "It's the red jacket with a fur collar. Hurry."

Christian stepped inside the warm air of the club once again and headed straight for the coat check. "'Scuse me," he called to the attendant. "I'm looking for a red jacket with a fur collar."

The coat check attendant looked him up and down. "Yeah, I'm sure red's a nice color on you." 

"It's not mine," Christian objected as the attendant turned to the rack. "It's my...she's...well, I guess she's--"

"Yep." The attendant handed him the jacket. "I believe you. Nice coat."

Christian didn't even bother, instead heading for the exit again. He didn't want to leave Satine alone for too long. He hadn't caught a glimpse of the guy, but she had really freaked out. Somehow it was very important to Christian that she was safe. He was terrified that she'd vanish before his very eyes, this girl who was perfect in every respect that he could see so far, this girl...

Someone screamed outside the club, and it took Christian a moment to register that she'd screamed his name. 

~*~*~*~

Was my muse on the right path? Let me know :)


	2. I Can't Express

My muse would like to thank Yvi, Serene, BeetleBon, Craklyn, Katie, and Finding Beauty :) Special thanks to Star for reading these and telling me whether I'm insane or not before I post :):):)

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Wesley: "Enter the villain."

--Ingrid's Funeral_, Act 1, Scene 2_

Satine believed wholeheartedly in Fate and Destiny and Love, with capital letters and heart-dotted 'i's. She hadn't had many opportunities in life to seek out such things, but hard times were no stranger to Satine and it was only dreams of those beautiful words which had sustained her. She also trusted in the certainty that she was meant for great things--Fate, Destiny, and Love in some perfectly concocted combination. Never before had she ever come close to thinking she'd found them all at once. 

Maybe...tonight she had. 

The evening had started out spectacularly badly, of course--as soon as she'd stepped inside the club some creep had started making scary advances, until she'd quietly notified security. He'd disappeared for a while, and in his place had come _Christian_... Satine had wondered briefly why his voice sounded so musical and luscious in her head, so she'd quickly downed a Cosmo to get rid of the floaty feeling that was encroaching on her carefully ordered senses. It hadn't gone away, though... Christian had simply gotten handsomer, sexier, sweeter, though he was not exactly incredibly witty. She loved his eyes, she loved his hair, she loved how her name sounded as it flowed out of his mouth. She wanted him to kiss her with those delectable lips and she wanted more than anything to hear the words "I love you" coming from them. 

Lord, what was happening to her?

Of course it hadn't lasted. That creep had shown up again and forced her quick exit. Satine wasn't sure why she was so scared of the man. She'd never seen him before, and hopefully he didn't know her, either. Something about the look in those eyes was so sharp, so far claimed by the dark side that they made her feel that her soul had been ravaged with one repulsive look. 

Christian had gone back inside to get her coat, and had been gone far too long. The moment he'd left her sight the chill of the night air had reached her bones, and with each foggy breath Satine's anxiety grew. The alley was awfully dark, and--

Satine's nerves ground to an agonizing halt as she felt an icy cold hand touch her bare back. She leapt away, her fear only escalating as she caught sight of the hand's owner. The name "Christian!" tore from her mouth with a thought. Christian would save her, Christian would... 

The man's greasy hair hung in those terrible eyes, and he swayed a bit as he took a step toward her. Satine realized quite quickly that she only had to keep out of the man's reach to be safe from him--he was so drunk he could barely walk, let alone run. Bu something in his eyes spoke so many volumes of evil, something so purely wicked that it seemed to represent everything that was wrong with the world...

"Bonjour," slurred the man, and even though his voice was muddled by drink and drug, it suddenly became as crisp in Satine's memory as the day she'd first heard it...

Oh, God. No...

It was _him_. _Him, him, him, _who had torn her world apart...

"Christian!" she screamed again, and as if on cue he came flying out of the nightclub clutching her coat. He ran into the drunk head-on, sending them both to the ground. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Christian mumbled, struggling to his feet. He spotted Satine a few feet away and she flew into his arms, shaking. "What was wrong?" he asked. "Was someone there? Where'd he go? What happened?"

Satine looked to the man on the ground, who was out for the count as effectively as if Christian had landed a punch. All Satine wanted to do was get out of there, but somehow everything had been made all right again by the feel of Christian's arms around her. "Let's just go," she whispered. "Can we just go?"

He extracted himself from her grasp, placing the jacket around her shoulders. "Was that the guy who was harassing you? Want me to kick him?"

"No, don't worry about him. He's out."

Christian took Satine's hand, pulling her away from the crumpled man on the ground and the noise of the nightclub. "Come on. There's a little café a couple blocks from here, you can sit down and I'll buy you a muffin."

Satine nearly giggled at his matter-of-factness, the link of their hands beginning to banish the darkness of memories. A muffin? The comment had come seemingly out of left field, and yet somehow it made her feel so fuzzily wonderful, where moments before there had only been terror. "Blueberry?" she asked, and was disgusted with the tears she could still hear in her voice. 

He kissed her forehead, a simple gesture seeming strangely familiar. "Absolutely. I might even spring for a scone."

"With powdered sugar?" she inquired. "And maybe some fancy swirly frosting on top?"

"Anything," he said. "Anything you want."

His words sent pleasant little shivers down her spine, and Satine wondered not for the first time if she were the only one feeling these things. This definitely qualified as the most bizarre night of her life, that was for sure. The café was just down the street as Christian had promised, a cute little well-lit muffin shop in the middle of a row of darkened department stores. 

"A blueberry scone with powdered sugar and frosting for the lady," said Christian, earning him a strange look from the young girl behind the counter. He seemed so free, thought Satine, so completely unaware of other's judgments. He was just...himself. That, or he was quite a good actor. 

"We got almond, and we got raspberry," said the girl. "There's a little jar of powdered sugar over by the napkins."

"We'll take one of each," declared Christian. "We spare no expense when it comes to scones." 

After paying and earning a few more weird looks from the cashier girl, they sat at a little window table with the scones and powdered sugar between them. "Are you feeling okay?" said Christian, dusting the pastries with a snowstorm of sugar. "Are you sure that guy didn't hurt you?" 

Unwelcome images flickered across Satine's mind, but she pushed them aside and concentrated on Christian's face. "I'm fine. Let's talk about something else. I've never seen you at the club before, do you go often?"

"Oh, not really. I just like to people-watch." Christian bit into the almond scone and made a face. "Eech."

"You don't like cosmopolitans and you don't like almond scones. What am I going to do with you?"

"So sue me, vodka doesn't agree with me. Perhaps it just needs more powdered sugar."

"The vodka or the scone?"

"Both, probably. Who came up with the word 'scone,' anyway?"

"It's Scottish," replied Satine immediately. "From the triangular 'Stone of Destiny,' the place where Scottish kings used to be crowned."

Christian looked vaguely awed. "I see."

Satine felt herself blushing for the thousandth time that night. "I was a linguistics major in college."

"Where'd you go?"

"Well, I didn't exactly...graduate. I was also a theatre major, a psychology major, and a forestry major. You can see why I'm waitressing for a living."

"I can see why you're amazing."

Satine's cheeks were by now crimson. "I take back what I said before, you know. You _are_ good at this."

Christian blushed a bit too, but didn't have a chance to reply as he was too distracted by the strains of music coming over the radio. "Wonderful..." crooned the chorus members. "Wonderful..."

"I love this song!" Satine and Christian said in unison, causing her to blush even more. 

Christian leapt up and climbed on top of his chair, beginning to sing. "All you have to do is touch my hand to show me you understand, and something happens to me that's some kind of wonderful..."

"Christian, get down!" cried Satine, but she was too busy laughing to really care if he heeded her words. 

"At any time my little world seems blue," he continued, "I just have to look at you, and everything seems to be some kind of wonderful. I know I can't express this feeling of tenderness, there's so much I wanna say, but the right words just don't come my way." He placed one foot on the shaky table, then the other, stretching out his arms like he was welcoming the sun. "I just know when I'm in your embrace this world is a happy place, and something happens to me, there's some kind of wonderful!" Christian tapped his feet on the table in time to the music, nearly knocking the scones to the floor. 

"I know I can't express this feeling of tenderness," sang Satine, surprising herself with how easily the words came. She wasn't even embarrassed. "There's so much I wanna say but the right words just don't come my way."

"I just know when I'm in your embrace," they sang together, "this world is a happy place, and something happens to me, there's some kind of wonderful..." 

Christian crouched on the table, bringing him back to eye level with Satine. "Some kind of sweet lips," he sang softly, "some kind of warm eyes, some kind of soft sigh, there's only some kind of wonderful. Oh yeah, wonderful..."

They leaned toward each other as the song faded, and...

Someone cleared their throat next to the table. "Uh, sorry to interrupt," said the cashier girl, grimacing. "We're closing now. And could you please get off the table, sir?"

Satine was beginning to think the entire night had been a dream, a bizarre quasi-nightmare that had morphed into the most wonderful, fun, romantic date she'd ever had. She threw her keys on the hall table before continuing to the kitchen, still humming The Drifters under her breath. She was almost wistfully certain that she'd never see him again, that he'd only been a figment of the imagination. He hadn't kissed her, granted, but he'd certainly wanted to. He'd been quite the gentleman the whole time, putting her in a cab and promising to come and see her tomorrow at the Two Windmills. It was all way too perfect. 

The _click, clack, click _of a typewriter's keys from the apartment next door permeated her fantasy. Lord, why didn't that man buy a computer? These walls were paper-thin. She'd never met her neighbor, but she imagined he was probably a writer. Sour and middle-aged and only mildly successful, she pictured that his only consolation was annoying his neighbors with the constant _click-clack _of putting thoughts to paper. Satine pounded on the wall, which stopped the clicking momentarily, but her neighbor simply pounded back and went on click-clacking. Fine. That was how he wanted it, then? Their constant battle was nothing new, and she knew exactly what would annoy him most. Satine flipped on the radio, turning the volume up. Tom Petty was singing, and Satine belted out the words along with him. "All the vampires walkin' through the valley, move west down Ventura Boulevard! And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows, all the good girls are home with broken hearts!"

The _click-clack had _faded, but after a moment resumed, so Satine continued as well, yelling the words as loud as she could. "And I'm free, free fallin'!!! Yeah I'm free, free fallin'!!!..."

Satine could no longer hear the typewriter, so she turned the volume down a bit to make sure. He appeared to have stopped completely. Ha! Score: Satine one, Neighbor zero. Satine allowed herself a victory verse as she danced around the living room. "I wanna glide down over Mulholland, I wanna write her name in the sky, gonna free fall out into nothin', gonna leave this world for a while...."

"Satine?"

She stopped cold in the middle of a pirouette, nearly tumbling to the ground. Had she just heard her name? Nah, it had to have been her imagination. 

"Satine, is that you?"

She'd definitely heard her name this time. She turned off the radio and listened intently. What the hell was going on? It was coming from her neighbor's apartment. And then...he began to sing something quite familiar. "All you have to do is touch my hand to show me you understand..." 

Satine's stomach did a flip-flop and she nearly toppled to the ground again. She sang in a shaky voice. "And something happens to me that's some kind of wonderful... Christian?"

"Satine!" the detached voice cried, and she could hear footsteps pounding in the direction of her neighbor's door. She hurried to her door, too, flung it open, and...

There was Christian. "Hey, neighbor," he said after a moment. "Sorry about the noise. I didn't realize..."

"Me neither!" said Satine quickly. "I'm sorry I'm so loud, too, I--"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, for Christian quite suddenly pulled her toward him and carried out that first kiss they hadn't quite gotten to in the café. 

It was _definitely_ way too perfect, Satine decided. Not that she was complaining. 

~*~*~*~

I enjoy zee reviews...please let me know whatcha think... :):):)


	3. Leaving Thoughts Below

Thanks so very much for everyone's support, sorry it took so long.... :)

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Wesley: "That's what I do, you know. Write songs. Never thought I was any good at it until she came along. She was my muse. In her presence I was Shakespeare with a keyboard and a drum beat. Sometimes she played the tambourine. Sometimes she would sit in a corner and just listen while I played around with melodies. Sometimes, and these were the perfect moments... She would sing. God, this voice, this voice, it would keep you up at night thinking that you had to have heard it wrong, that there was nothing on earth that could be that glorious. 

God, she was beautiful..."

--Ingrid's Funeral_, Act I, Scene 3_

Christian resisted his urge to burst into song until he'd reached his rusty blue Civic and started the engine. Duncan Sheik was singing on the radio, and Christian let loose as he pulled into the busy street. 

"I'm on a high, on a high, there's nothing more to it," he sang, "I have the sun, it's a star, why should I refuse it!"

An elderly couple in the Cadillac next to him tried very hard not to look at the crazy young singer. Christian tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, oblivious to the world. He had never been in love, but this was exactly what he'd imagined, a hundred times better, and a hundred times worse, all at once. The torturous hours between this morning and tonight seemed they'd last forever, and he'd only left her minutes ago. 

He parked in the tiny lot adjacent to the theatre and walked around back. Despite his agony over leaving home this morning, it was difficult not to feel excited--no, thrilled, ecstatic, euphoric--over the day he was about to have. Christian Gilkey, playwright.... _Ingrid's Funeral _was going to be a smash, the director said so, the actors said so, the backer said so... Of course, the director was a relative, the star had yet to be found, and Christian had never actually met the benefactor who had generously refurbished the theatre and paid for the song rights. It must be because he _believed_ in the production, right?

The young songwriter fought the butterflies rising in his stomach, squared his shoulders, and opened the door. Met with the familiar smell of sawdust and paint at the sight of the dusty scene shop, Christian was calmed straight away. This was right to him; it was very nearly like home. He'd always been here, on the stage, behind the curtains, in the audience, or any role that allowed him to simply _be_, breathing in a theatre's magical air. 

Dr. Dan (Christian was fairly sure he was not actually a doctor, but this was what everyone had always called him) was staring up at the grid ceiling, no doubt planning something spectacular. The eccentric technical director preferred not to be interrupted in these brilliant musings, Christian knew, so the playwright snuck softly around him and walked out onto the stage. Even in an empty auditorium with the house lights up, Christian couldn't help but feel the accustomed flutter in his throat at the sight of the beautiful space. This play, yes, this one, this would be it. This would be his ticket. A smash, they said. Christian believed them with all his heart. 

A few hours later Christian was not so sure of his success. They'd seen a dozen actresses in the space of an hour, and not one had struck gold. His title character, the beautiful, tragic, ethereal Ingrid, had to be someone special, someone no one else in the world could replicate. 

"I still say we cast Renee," sniffed Erik Satie, the musical director. "She certainly has the voice."

"But she doesn't have that _quality_!" cried Christian, stretching out in the seat. They were out in the audience, waiting for the next auditioner to arrive. "I'll know her when I see her. She's out there, I promise."

"Christian, I may have to overrule you here," said Marie. Christian's grandmother may have been eighty years old, but when her grandson had asked her to direct his masterpiece, she'd made it clear that she'd be the boss. "She'd play well off Nathaniel."

"Is someone talking about me?" asked a voice behind them. "You know you love me Marie, why deny it?" 

"Hush, Nathaniel," said Marie. "You're early."

Nathaniel Argentine plopped down in the row behind the crew and made himself comfortable. "I know," he said, closing his eyes. "I want to see who I'm going to be starring beside. Have you found her yet?"

"Not yet," replied Christian. "Would you read with the next girl?...Nathaniel? Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel, however, had fallen asleep. His soft snores were the only sound in the auditorium as the rest of them waited in silence for the next actress. Christian closed his own eyes, waiting. He heard the sound of footsteps, high heels, click across the stage, heard Marie addressing the auditioner, but he didn't even bother to look. He felt himself sinking into a terrible hole, a hole that no Ingrid would ever pull him out of. Had he been foolish to hope for such success when they couldn't even find their lead actress? 

The first strains of "Live a Lie" by Default came over the loudspeakers again. This song would be Ingrid's crowning jewel, her theme, her shining moment when all else in the play had turned to Hell. "I can't seem to find out what I feel," sang the actress, "burned out dreams of others which I can steal. Take or leave this way I seem to you, it eats right through you..."

Christian's head slowly rose. Was it possible...was it...had they found their Ingrid? Had she been right under his nose all along? 

"Ripped up parts of things I should do, I'll run 'round and tell you screaming..." Satine stood onstage, long red hair shining in the spotlight. Her eyes were closed, her voice near to bursting with the very passion that Ingrid would feel. "Oh I live a lie, oh I live a lie, oh why even try? I've been leaving thoughts below, still I feel I should know..."

She opened her eyes and saw Christian sitting there, which caught her voice for a moment. She quickly regained it and continued the song. "Still don't see much of me giving in, much too strong to live outside of these sins. Feeling like I'm taken lightly, think you see right through me. Words of those who still despise me, think it's eating me you're dreaming..."

Christian snuck a glance at those around him, and saw that they were just as rapt as he was. It was her, they had found her, the show would be spectacular if only they could have _this_ Ingrid! 

"When I seem to believe all that I've done wrong you can take all that's right I will still move on. Taken all I can give it seems that I don't belong, push me farther from this go on..."

Nathaniel awoke with a start, started to say something, but Christian hushed him. The playwright's head was filled with what this show would be, Nate and Satine playing the ill-fated lovers, the magnificent tapestry of music playing against a tragic passion...

"Oh I live a lie, oh I live a lie, oh why even try? I've been leaving thoughts below, still I feel I should know..."

The music faded, the magic was gone, and there stood Ingrid. "You're her," whispered Christian. "We have found our Ingrid!" he cried, leaping out of his seat. "Right in front of me the whole time! You're perfect, you know that? Perfect!"

"So some tell me," she said, winking. She seemed to remember suddenly that she was in front of people, and turned to Marie. "Thank you very much," she said, curtsying. 

"My dear," said the director, "I should probably think about this more, but..."

The entire auditorium held their breath, and Marie smiled.

"You've got the job."

High above their heads, someone watched. The light booth was dark and seemingly abandoned, but from behind the glass someone watched. Techies wouldn't arrive for weeks, and sound and light were far from anyone's mind at the first rehearsal, but still, someone watched. He watched the girl dance across the stage with the other actors, he watched her red hair stream out behind her and her blue eyes twinkle with determination. 

Someone watched, lusted, plotted. 

He waited. 

~*~*~*~


	4. Beautiful and Strange

A new chapter! Heh heh. *grin* :)

__

A tall, slender woman with reddish hair and sparkling eyes enters the bar and everyone falls silent. She snaps her fingers and the men's chorus jumps up. She snaps them again and Cecil reaches over and places a quarter in the jukebox. Wesley stands at rapt attention, infatuated by the stranger before she even opens her mouth. Toni is clearly not pleased. The woman continues to snap her fingers as the first strains of the song waft into the air. 

Ingrid [singing]: "Downstairs at Danny's all-star joint they got a juke box that goes doyt-doyt; the vice is nice, they stay in the back all day, but when the nighttime comes, hey-hey..."

--Ingrid's Funeral, _Act I, Scene 3_

"Okay, people!" Marie clapped her hands and the chatter died down immediately. She surveyed the array of actors spread out across the stage. They were a motley group, but she would whip them into shape soon enough. "Let's introduce everyone. You know me, Marie Gilkey, I gave you all your jobs. And yes, Christian Gilkey is my grandson. Any problems so far?"

The cast had none. Marie continued. "You will all have to meet with Ms. Greene, the costumer, to get measurements by the end of the day. Over there is Erik on the piano. Dr. Dan is around here somewhere... And of course our house crew, whom you will meet later on, I am sure. Let's meet the cast. Nathaniel, why don't we start with you?"

Nathaniel puffed out his chest and bowed grandly. "Of course, darling Marie. My name is Nathaniel Argentine, and I will be portraying Wesley, the penniless poet." He turned to Satine and took her hand to kiss it. Satine blushed. "Wesley will woo Ingrid, the young songbird, who will fall madly--"

"Okay, next!" cried Christian, who watched Nathaniel carefully as he dropped Satine's hand and winked slyly at her. Damn actors. 

"Um, I'm Satine Withe," she said, "and like he said, I'll be playing Ingrid." 

Another man immediately swept up next to her, bowing as well. "And _I_, Sir Harold Zidler, will portray the villain of the piece, the terrible Mr. Irving." 

"Yes, try to be less jovial at that, Zidler," snapped Marie. "He's the villain, after all."

"Touchy, touchy," murmured Harold Zidler, and Christian had a flashback to the seventies. Harold Zidler, then 25, and Marie Gilkey, then 49, People Magazine's "It" Couple... God, this was going to be a nightmare. Why on earth had Marie cast her old flame, of all people?

"Ray Lautrec," the next actor volunteered. He stood under five feet tall, Christian knew, but could out-shout all of them, and do it while juggling flaming swords and reciting Shakespeare. Christian's college roommate was, in Christian's opinion, rather of a genius onstage. "I've been cast as Boone Beauregard, the traveling salesman," continued Ray. "And I for one am loving the wonderful family atmosphere we've got going around here..."

"Shut up, Lautrec," said Marie, and turned at the noise of a slamming auditorium door. "Ah, our very own Antonia Araceli. So good of you to join us, Nicolette. You missed warm-ups."

The woman did not even offer an excuse, just sauntered calmly onto the stage and joined the other actors. Christian sunk down in his seat, recognizing her. What a small world. Of all the things he needed right now, having Marie cast the Barbie Doll from the bar as the local reporter was not one of them. Hopefully she wouldn't recognize him--that green stuff had been pretty strong. 

Marie quickly ran through the names of the men's and women's choruses, then banished them all from the stage. "We're starting with scene 5 because of certain people's schedules," she said with a pointed look at Satine. "And if any of you care, our lead actress will be at the Three Windmills when she's not here."

"Sorry," Satine whispered, and not for the first time Christian wanted to jump up and defend her--she had another job, so what?-- but that wouldn't be decorous, not now. 

They spent the afternoon blocking the 'declaration-of-love' scene, as Christian liked to call it, with Erik sighing and moaning at every turn while the actors tried to sing the unfamiliar lines. It was a Dave Matthews Band medley, and one of Christian's better ideas, he thought. He was being paid to use other artist's music, then he might as well add a little flair of his own, right? 

"When the world ends..." crooned Nathaniel near the end of the medley, and Satine answered sweetly from the other side of the stage. 

"I'm gonna walk you through the pathless roads..." 

"I'm gonna take you to the top of a mountain that's no longer there..."

"I'm going crazy and it's all 'cause of you..." 

__

"It's all 'cause of you..."

Under Marie's watchful eye the pair traversed the stage, drawing closer to each other as the finale neared. 

"I'm going under, over you..."

"Over you..."

"Oh so beautiful, and so strange..." sang Satine, and the every male in the place fell in love with her. 

"Oh, it was empty until you came..." Nathaniel drew Satine into his arms, and Marie called, "Cut!"

Satine drew away from the leading man immediately, Christian noted with some satisfaction. She was a professional. 

"That's enough for tonight," said Marie, dismissing the cast with a wave of her hand. "I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow. Christian." She beckoned her grandson as the cast packed their things and began to escape the rehearsal. "Are you all right?"

Had he been that obvious? "What do you mean?" 

Marie Gilkey knew everything, but she didn't often admit it. "Whatever. Go home. Alone, mind you."

"Why would you think otherwise?"

Christian kissed her cheek and fled before she could answer. 

"All right, how about this?" Satine asked. She and Christian were on their way up the stairs of their building, she riding piggy-back on his shoulders. Her feet hurt so badly after waitressing and then rehearsal on top of that, she had whimpered, and he'd immediately devised the plan to carry her upstairs without killing himself in the process. "We knock a hole in the adjoining wall," she continued, "and when management asks, we can pretend the doorway was always there."

"I love it!" cried Christian, attempting to unlock his door. "I'll get the sledgehammer!"

She laughed, as she usually found herself doing around him. "Your enthusiasm is infectious, Mr. Gilkey."

"Happy to amuse you as always," he murmured, finally getting the door unlocked. "I live to serve your every need."

Satine observed Christian's apartment from her higher vantage point. "Why do you have a typewriter? Why not get a computer?"

He shrugged, and consequently she fell off his shoulders. "I guess I like how it feels. It's not just an antique, it's...a part of the past. I feel like a real writer when I'm using it."

"Speaking of writing, I meant to ask you..." She was embarrassed to bring it up, but decided to plunge ahead anyway. "I was wondering why the songs in the play aren't original. I mean, I've heard your work and it's amazing, so I just wondered..."

"It's okay." He didn't seem offended as she had feared, only resigned. "The guy who hired me to write the play specified it. They wanted something different--"

"So they decided to recycle?" supplied Satine, and they both laughed. "There's so many questions I want to ask you!" she cried, peeking into the kitchen. "What's your favorite crayon color?"

"Burnt sienna," he replied. "Although I do enjoy orange-red, as well. That was easy. I thought it was going to be a hard question, like what do you want to do with your life."

"What _do_ you want to do with your life?"

"I want to write something that matters to someone. I want to change someone's life with my writing."

"Just one person?" Satine resisted the urge to look through the drawers and turned back to Christian. He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her. "Not the masses?"

A small smile crept onto his face, and Satine knew somehow that the smile was just for her. "One person would be enough for me." 

An awkward moment inevitably followed, in which neither knew quite what to say, though a million things occurred to them. "So, what's your favorite crayon color?" asked Christian. 

She grinned, the moment passed. "Cerulean!" she cried. "The blues are the best ones. You can draw everything with blue--the ocean, the sky..."

"Why is the ocean blue?"

"Because it reflects the sky." 

"Then why is the sky blue?"

"Because it reflects the ocean."

The conversation dissolved at that point, though the dialogue in Satine's head kept running along the lines of _kiss me_! Christian approached her rather shyly. "This could get awkward," he said. "The playwright sleeping with the lead actress. Scandals, you know."

"Marie is the one who gave me the job," she replied. "Besides, isn't she your grandmother? And didn't she also hire her ex-lover and your college roommate? You really think _we're_ going to be the problem?"

"Problem?" he asked, gathering her in his arms as Wesley had done to Ingrid. "What problem?"

~*~*~*~


End file.
